


All Over the Road

by JasperIsAFanboy



Series: The Afternoon Light Cuts to Size [7]
Category: Blood Drive (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex in a Car, i cant believe i wrote fic inspired by a shitty country song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 19:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16625225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasperIsAFanboy/pseuds/JasperIsAFanboy
Summary: or: julian gets bored.





	All Over the Road

**Author's Note:**

> ok so. i fucking hate modern mainstream country. give me old school/southern gothic, or give me death. that said. this is named after and inspired by an easton carlton song abt a guy who, i shit u not, gets pulled over for driving erratically while his girl's giving him a handjob. i hear it at work sometimes. i despise it, i genuinely do, and i'm mad at myself for getting an idea out of it.

If there’s one thing Julian doesn’t handle well, it’s boredom. He despises boring stories, boring people, boring places. He’s an entertainer, and a flamboyant ham of an entertainer at that. Being uninteresting or tolerating uninteresting things just isn’t in him. It’s like grit in an oyster, irritating and coarse, but it rarely results in a pearl; usually it just results in him causing trouble somehow. Typically he likes to goad Rasher, in the hopes that it’ll make him pull a knife on him, and then  _both_  of them get to have some fun. (Or he corners him and shoves his hand down his jeans, which is also fun and has the added bonus of watching Rasher try to keep quiet while Julian’s jerking him off, because Julian never ambushes him like that anywhere overly private.) If he can’t use Rasher to alleviate his boredom, he starts fucking in little ways with the racers. Nothing to endanger them unduly, nothing that would affect the race in any major sense; just a bit of engineered mayhem. A slow leak in a tire here, a little engine trouble there, maybe some manufactured personal drama among any couples racing together. It keeps the racers on their toes and keeps him entertained as much as the audience at Heart.

Lately he’s been finding that sometimes driving is boring, especially since so much of the country is little better than a wasteland because of the Scar. When he gets bored enough, he picks up hitchhikers, and that helps for a while. He didn’t consider this when he stopped racing; back then, he had the machinations of other racers to worry about, on top of the rest of the race. But driving to scout a possible location between races? Boring. And being the passenger in his own car while someone else drives? Even more boring.

He heaves a dramatic sigh and sinks lower in his seat. He could sleep, he thinks, but then he might miss something good. Not that there’s anything good to miss around here, they’re driving through the empty vastness of Arizona and there’s almost nothing to look at; just sand, rocks, and very distant mountains. The highway’s as straight as a pin and devoid of any other drivers. He fidgets absently with the catch of his belt pouch, deliberately makes it jingle. He glances over at Rasher, who’s driving with one hand on the steering wheel and the other propping his head up on the windowsill. He looks about as bored as Julian.

Well. Julian is an entertainer, after all. It’s practically his life’s purpose to make sure people aren’t bored.

He unbuckles his seatbelt and makes a show of arching his back, stretching as best as he can in the narrow confines of the car. Rasher ignores him. Julian settles back in his seat, links his hands behind his head. Looks over at Rasher.

“Hey,” he says. He sees Rasher’s eyes move over to him for a moment.

“Hey, what?” Rasher asks.

Julian grins. “I wanna suck you off.”

Rasher looks at him properly. “What, now?” he asks incredulously, as if Julian hasn’t wanted to suck him off at stranger moments. Julian nods, lets a little teeth show in his grin. Rasher swallows. He starts to pull over.

“Ah, ah. Keep driving.”

He hears Rasher swallow again before he says, very softly, “Jesus fuck.” The corner of his mustache twitches and Julian knows he’s got him. He glances down, sees he’s  _definitely_  got him.

Rasher’s free hand goes to his belt buckle, gets it open. Julian bats his hand away and leans over. He looks up at Rasher, turning his face slightly towards him.

“Hands on the wheel,” he says. Rasher sets his hands at the top of the wheel, giving Julian room. Julian opens Rasher’s pants one-handed. He pulls him out, takes a moment to rub the pad of his finger over where the shaft of a barbell distorts the skin. He hooks the tip of his finger in Rasher’s Prince Albert and pulls very gently, making Rasher groan through his teeth. His grip on the steering wheel goes white-knuckled.

“Julian,” he gasps.

Julian lowers his head and sucks Rasher into his mouth. He spares a moment to thank whatever god is listening that the car isn’t a stick, since it means there’s no center console. He really doesn’t fancy trying to blow Rasher while also trying not to knock the car out of gear. He hears Rasher gasp, hears the creak of Rasher’s palms against the steering wheel as his grip tightens further. Hears the engine rev as Rasher inadvertently puts his foot down. He’d grin if he didn’t have a cock in his mouth; nice to know he has that kind of effect on Rasher.

He draws back until just the head of Rasher’s cock rests against his tongue, then takes him deep. Rasher makes a choked noise and clutches Julian’s hair with one head, the other creaking on the steering wheel again. The engine’s roaring now, Rasher must have the gas pedal flat on the floor. Julian turns his head a little, just so he can look up at Rasher’s face. The sheer need he sees there is immensely gratifying, and more than a little arousing. Rasher’s eyes have gone half-lidded, his lower lip snug between his teeth, his narrow chest heaving. Julian bobs his head, teasing the barbells close to Rasher’s balls with one hand. It makes Rasher curse and jerk so that he yanks the steering wheel and sends the car reeling slightly into what Julian would guess is the oncoming lane. Rasher yanks the wheel back.

“Fuck, Julian,” he grits out, “gonna make me wreck—“ He groans and clenches his fingers in Julian’s hair again.

Julian keeps teasing him, sucking him deep, tonguing the piercings, occasionally fondling his balls. Rasher curses and tries to keep the car on the road, one hand in Julian’s hair and the other clutching the wheel. Occasionally something Julian does makes him yank the wheel again; once they run off into the shoulder, if the sudden change in the feel of the road is any indication.

“Julian, please,” he groans at one point. “Almost hit a telephone pole!”

Julian decides to be merciful. He swallows Rasher as deep as he can and sucks hard. Rasher curses and comes, his hips jerking almost as hard as his hand on the wheel. Even Julian can feel the way they whip into oncoming, empty as the rest of the road has been. He quickly sits up and takes the wheel, putting them back into their lane. They’re absolutely blazing down the road, too, Julian doesn’t need to check the speedometer to know they’re going well over a hundred. Rasher’s hand joins Julian’s on the wheel, and Julian lets him have it and sits back. He looks at Rasher, who’s panting raggedly but has evidently come back to himself. They’re slowing down.

“God, you’re a fucking trip,” Rasher says after a moment, still breathing hard.

Julian just grins as he demurely wipes his lips. He opens his mouth to reply, but the sound of swiftly approaching sirens cuts him off. He twists around and spots the police car behind them. Rasher glances in the rearview, rakes his fingers through his hair. He looks at Julian.

“Should we let him live?” he asks.

“Does the engine need fuel?”

“Uh… got about half a tank.”

Julian grins, making Rasher snort. He pulls over to the shoulder, gravel crunching under the tires. The cop car pulls up behind them. There’s a pause as the cop gets out and comes up to the window. He’s a big man, the kind of wholesome conventional good-looking that bores Julian to sobs. Rasher puts the window down and the cop leans over.

“Afternoon,” he says. “Sir, do you know how fast and erratically you were driving just now?”

Rasher shrugs, giving the cop as much insolent insouciance as he can. “Nope,” he says, “I was more interested in the blowjob I was getting.”

The cop turns bright red and sees Julian in the passenger seat. Julian grins and waves cheekily.

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to step out of the car,” the cop says, looking at Rasher.

“Oh, come now, blowjobs aren’t illegal,” Julian says. “And surely it doesn’t count as indecent exposure, there’s no one to see anything for miles.”

“Yeah, man, we haven’t seen shit for hours,” Rasher adds. “Just let us go.”

The cop goes redder still. “Sir, step out of the car. Now.”

Rasher heaves an immensely put-upon sigh. He unbuckles his seatbelt, opens the door hard and sudden to make the cop scurry backwards, at which Julian lets out a very undignified snort. Rasher slings his long legs out and stands, shutting the door behind him. Julian gets out of the car as well, though no one told him to. He stands and stretches, ignoring the cop giving Rasher a breathalyzer test on the other side of the car. Rasher is keeping up a steady stream of grumbling, doing his best to come across as utterly inconvenient without becoming a liability, which means that no matter how cooperative he behaves, the cop is getting an earful.

“I mean come on, man, we weren’t hurting anyone, we didn’t hit anyone or anything, this is fuckin’ discrimination, you’re fuckin’ with us just because we’re both guys, fuckin’ homophobe cop—“

“Look, just shut up and walk the damn line,” the cop finally says, clearly exasperated. “Jesus Christ, you’re the one making this difficult, if you’d just kept your mouth shut and cooperated with me, you—“

The throwing knife Julian keeps in his sleeve finds a home in the side of the cop’s throat. Julian had thrown it with no more effort than he’d give to tying his bootlaces. Choking and clawing uselessly at his throat, the man goes to his knees. Blood bubbles and pours from his mouth, splatters on the ground and Rasher’s boots. Idly, Julian approaches from behind the cop. He stares down at him with the mildest of interest, then yanks the knife out and kicks him onto his front.

“Grab his arms, I’ll grab his ankles,” Julian says. Rasher nods, opens the car door to pop the hood.

The cop tries to struggle, but with both sides of his neck pouring blood he’s fading fast and doesn’t have a hope of getting away. Together Julian and Rasher haul the cop up and drag him, still choking on his own blood, to the engine. The jaws are open wide, ready and waiting. Unceremoniously they shove the cop into the engine’s jaws, though Julian quickly steps out of range of the blood spray. Rasher seems to bask in it.  _Disgusting brat_ , Julian thinks fondly. Once the cop’s body is gone, consumed by the engine, Rasher turns to Julian. Julian sees he’s licking blood from his lips and mustache. It should be disgusting, but…

There’s always a certain hunger in Rasher’s eyes after killing. It echoes in Julian, rings in him like a distant bell-toll or rumble of thunder.

Julian puts one hand on Rasher’s shoulder and opens his belt with the other. He pushes Rasher to his knees. He grins.

“My turn,” he says.


End file.
